


Bittersweet

by chaoticneurobivergent



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Activism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autistic Keith (Voltron), Established Relationship, Gen, POV Keith (Voltron), Protests, Trans Lance (Voltron), cw oppression, it's still a hopeful story I swear!, mention of a character's death, mention of police brutality, mention of street harassment, the rating is bc of the violence mentionned, there's nothing graphic or detailed but well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 21:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16879848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticneurobivergent/pseuds/chaoticneurobivergent
Summary: “Protest day people!”Keith heard his boyfriend's enthusiasm before he even saw Lance joining them.“You're way too excited about this.” Pidge deadpanned as Lance sat in front of her, next to Keith.“And for the one who planned most of it, you're not enough.”Pidge sighed. “8am classes do that to people.”- Protests were sadness and anger, places where Keith felt the urge to break and throw and scream. Protests weren't supposed to feel good. And yet.





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't stop thinking that in a modern AU, _of course_ the paladins would be activists. so now I wanna write it, obvsly.  
> this OS has been written during nano as a way to experiment and try things out in this AU (hence the established relationship, bc otherwise I don't write those much)  
> so here it is! with bonus _Les Mis_ references ;)

Keith’s phone vibrated in rhythm with the rocking of the bus. Carefully sitten near a window, he could see the tweet on top of the article he has been reading on his way to uni: Voltron's account was reminding everyone of the protest planned for tonight. The overuse of emojis – black figures, explosion, and sparkles – would have been enough for him to guess Lance had been the one tweeting it, in case he didn't already know. Lance and Allura were the ones behind every communication, which was fair, but Keith wasn't sure the emojis were needed. Strategically speaking, he wondered, were people actually more likely to join if their messages lured them with a bomb emoji? If so, then shouldn't they think of more activists ones? Like, maybe a barricade while they were at it, a guillotine, a yellow face holding a sign, the trans symbol, an actual circled A, the black cat of- the bus stopped and Keith was pushed forward. He growled and looked up, only to realize it was his stop. He rushed outside to the usual building, and tried to suppress every new thoughts about more activimojis. Even though, really, he had so many ideas – should he actually mention it at their next meeting?

 

les ami.e.s de l'ABC (who let Lance decide of the gc name?) 

**lance:** where are yoooou :'(

**allura:** library 4th floor

**hunk:** Same. Shay's there too. Wanna join?

**lance:** hhh no offense i'd rather not be reminded of my exams approaching

**pidge:** eating lunch with K and ignoring the pressure of capitalism weighing over our head

**lance:** that's what i'm talking about!! where?

**keith:** tables outside

 

“Protest day people!”

Keith heard his boyfriend's enthusiasm before he even saw Lance joining them.

“You're way too excited about this.” Pidge deadpanned as Lance sat in front of her, next to Keith.

“And for the one who planned most of it, you're not enough.”

Pidge sighed. “8am classes do that to people.”

It was a fair point, if you asked Keith. Himself didn't even go to his 9am class, knowing that he wouldn't handle waking up early _and_ a protest the same day. Lance knew that, too, so he just shaked his head and turned to Keith.

“Tell me you're excited.”

Keith shrugged. “Yeh, but also it's so cold already. Whose idea was it to do that at night?”

“Mine, actually. I even told you about it and you said 'oh man that's gonna be so pretty'.”

“Hm, replied Keith mindlessly. Don’t remember, didn’t happen.”

“Anyway,” started Pidge as she was finishing her apple. She paused dramatically to get their full attention, then make them wait by putting down her phone on the table and looking them in the eyes before she finally asked, with all the nonchalance she could gather: “Which one of you want to take one for the team and go borrow a megaphone.”

Keith frowned, already suspicious. “Borrow from whom?”

Pidge didn't reply, her “I'm sorry but yes, exactly them” look was enough for Keith to roll his eyes.

They had broken their megaphone during the last protest – well, more like just after their last protest, while they were messing around at Hunk's – and they hadn't bought a new one yet. So they had to ask around, as they couldn't exactly only use their bare voices to carry the sound of their anger. The closest megaphone in campus belonged to another student organisation, the Galras. And Galras were jerks and fascists. Keith could say it because he had been part of them for a while – something he was a bit ashamed of, but they didn't used to be all bad, there was a time where he agreed with some of their ideas. It all turned to shit when Lotor came in with his pockets full of money and started mansplaining their fight to the girls who were there for years. Keith left, and had joined Voltron, but he couldn't really avoid them completely. He still knew what they had been up to – mostly; pushing their rights further away from them - and he actually still talked to a few of their member, sometimes. Still, he sighed.

“I'll go.”

“You're sure? I can do it,” suggested Lance.

“I don't have class today anyway, unlike you who need to stop ignoring your exams. Also it's fine, Lotor's probably busy all day with the elections and I can not be mean when I don't see his face. Hopefully Acxa will be there, and the transaction will go smoothly.”

“Transaction,” snorted Pidge. “Stop talking like a marketing student. But thank you for your sacrifice.”

“Don't mention it. But I'm not the one talking tonight.”

Pidge shrugged. “Lance will do it.”

“Hmmm or Allura? Or Hunk? Or Shiro? Or Plaxum? Or Nyma? Or literally anyone else?”

“No, you.”

“Come ooon.”

“I thought you wanted responsibilities?”

“Yeh. But. Yeh... But Keith can do it!”

“No, I'm _not_ doing it!”

“But your commanding voice is so good.”

Keith blushed at that, but he wasn't gonna give in. He didn't like talking in public whereas Lance thrived off it, even if he always stressed too much over it. Keith was only able to stutter. “You-Yours good too.” And then came back to his sandwich, considering the conversation done – Pidge wouldn't give Lance any choice, anyway, they both knew that.

  
Keith decided to go get the megaphone right after lunch. Or, more precisely,  just after mentioning his activimojis to Lance, who laughed and told him: “That’s why you don’t do strategy, babe.” - whatever that was supposed to mean. Keith frowned and got up. “Oh, come on, you know I’m right!” he heard behind him - and, once again, what was that supposed to mean? Lance’s words were too unclear. Keith turned back just long enough to blow him a kiss and the promise of meeting at Lance’s before the protest, as usual.

The Galras were lucky enough to have a local at uni whereas Voltron was still struggling to be taken seriously. Keith wasn’t exactly bitter, but he would lie if he said knowing their local was in one of the oldest building, far away from the center of the campus, didn’t make him feel petty. Acxa wasn't there when Keith entered. He only found Ezor and Zethrid drinking coffee around a small table – still a win, thought Keith, because at least Lotor wasn't there.

“Just here to get the megaphone, please?” he simply asked.

Ezor pointed at a closet in the corner, and Keith walked silently towards it to take the megaphone out. Exactly the kind of interaction Keith enjoyed: no unnecessary struggle, no particular friendliness but at least no one was there to laugh at his face like Lotor liked to do. And maybe it was because it was so easy that Keith added something – he had nothing to lose.

“You should come.”

Zethrid snickered and didn't even look at him. “Yeh, no.”

“Why not?”

She sighed and purposely rolled her eyes in a big gesture, wanting to make it clear she was annoyed Keith was still there.

“First of all, yall are organizing it, and we don't like you.”

Keith sighed in return. He had a strict policy of 'don't do friends with comrades' which he declined in 'don't do enemies with comrades', because there weren't there to make friends or add complicated interpersonal relationships into their fight. But with the Galras, the situation had always been complicated.

“Second of all, Lotor would kill us.”

“He doesn't have to know.” Keith didn't really know why he was still trying, they had both made it clear they wanted nothing to do with Voltron. _Still_ , something in the back of Keith's head murmured, _they were part of the same community, and in the end, didn't they all wanted the same things?_

“Sure, yeh, most of queer activists are gonna be there, and _for sure_ none of them will immediately tell Lotor.”

Okay, that was enough. Keith knew there was nothing to add when Zethrid got that sarcastic.

“Thanks for the megaphone. It's 6pm in case you change your mind.”

“We know, we saw Lance's tweet.”

Keith turned back to the door, ready to get out and find the blankets waiting for him on Lance's couch, but Ezor's voice stopped him.

“Kogane?”

“Yeh?” He looked back over his shoulder. There was no more playfulness and annoyance in her eyes, her face had turned sour and Keith quickly understood why.

“Just.. Just say Narti's name, please?”

“Of course.” He nodded softly before he left.

 

Protests weren't supposed to feel good. So, really, maybe Keith shouldn't be complaining about the cold. But for the record: it was as cold as he expected. Lance and him were at the meeting point early because Lance was so excited he made them take the tram ten minutes too soon. Keith didn't mind, but he feared his fingers wouldn't handle the night. They found Shiro already waiting, and he told them he couldn't stay for the protest but still wanted to see and support everyone. They nodded, because they knew how it was. Shiro used to be a very active campaigner when he was a student, and he actually was the one who took Keith into this in the first place. But it had been years since then, and after numerous unfair fights with cops, sleepless nights in jail, and losing an arm, his PTSD didn't allow him to keep going as much as he used to. Keith himself liked it better to know him safe, at home with Adam, preparing his lectures for his students.

Allura and Pidge joined them quickly, holding signs and large banners. Then Hunk showed up, and Shay, and Keith saw Plaxum's hair from afar, talking with Rolo. For someone who didn't want to merge into the community, Keith knew a lot of the people who came tonight – Lance's influence, he would say, but also Shiro's. Still, Keith enjoyed the sight of new faces, which meant new people were getting involved on their side.

The large clocks before them pointed 18:20 when Lance reluctantly took the megaphone from Keith's hands and stood on top of the little stairs. His voice was firm, and Keith understood why Pidge wanted him to do it – and no one else. Before they left Lance's flat earlier, Lance had instructed both of them to “dress queer, but not too queer because we're taking public transport afterwards and we want to avoid harassment.” And as Lance was standing there, Keith thought he nailed the look. He had blue in his hair, glitters on his face, and buttons in blue, white, and pink all over his jacket. He looked objectively beautiful, and as he talked, enthralling the audience and reminding everyone why they were there tonight, with a touch of softness and casualty to compensate the tragic events of reality, Keith thought he could fall in love all over again - he was sure a part of him did, in a way. Keith couldn't take his eyes off him, and when Lance finished explaining how the march will go, Keith was the first to start clapping. Lance had always been in his element facing a crowd, and if didn’t know him better, Keith wouldn't understand where his doubts were coming from. After all, all it took was for Lance’s voice to resonate into a mediocre mic inside a cheap auditorium for Keith to realize he would follow him anywhere.

They let some others handling the banners on the front, and they stepped aside a bit before joining the crowd. They hadn't taken a sign with them; Keith's days in the black block got him used to not get bother with something in his hands. Which was still a good decision, he thought, as he grabbed Lance's hand and intertwined their fingers. Allura was holding the megaphone now, and she was saying the names of their lost siblings – at least the names they knew of. Keith had came to her earlier, asking to add Narti to the list, and she immediately agree.

Narti's story was one among too much. She had disappeared months ago, and no one knew what happened to her. One night, she didn't come back home. Sadly, they couldn't say they were surprised. That was how they lived – on the edge. Every day one of them came back home safe felt like another day closer to the day they won't. And everytime they crossed upon dark stares, nonconsensual touches, or punches, there was a sort of shameful relief after the events, so glad that they at least made it out alive for one day more. That was survival. And that was unfair. A weight grew on Keith’s throat as he shivered, chasing the too recent memories.

Most of the days, sadly, Keith felt like no protest would change anything. Everytime he walked and chanted the same melody reminded him of all the times he did it already, and all the times he will have to do it again. Because nothing was changing, or was changing way too slowly, and there was so much to fix, so much to destroy. Protests were sadness and anger, places where Keith felt the urge to break and throw and scream. They were a huge reminder that that was all they had left to do, that society didn't care about them, worse than that: that society liked them better on the ground, dripping blood, and away from the eyes.

The cold was sharp and Keith kept the hand which wasn't holding Lance's deep inside his pocket. Still, a smile escaped from his lips has they blocked two trams while marching silently. They were forcing people to notice them, to watch, to read their signs, to care at least for a minute. People didn't like waiting and being interrupted by a group of youngsters thinking they knew better how they should be spending their time. But people didn't like them, period. Except when they were masking who they were, pretending to be part of a statu quo. Keith didn't mind their staring, even if sometimes it made him feel like an animal trapped in a zoo. At least, for once, they saw them as they choose to present themselves, and not as others presented them.

 

Protests weren't supposed to feel good. Really, on paper, it seemed like way too much for Keith. If it weren't for Shiro, he would have never put a foot in one. It was outside, in the middle of a crowd, impredictable, loud. Keith spent his very first protest close to Shiro, holding the side of his jacket in fear of losing sight of his large figure. He shouted when Shiro did, he followed Shiro's steps more than the people in front of him, and he kept his head low. He had been exhausted afterwards, but a few months later Keith could be seen in the front row, wearing all black as he faced the cops.

A banger exploded on his right, and he felt Lance squeezed his hand. Keith squeezed back to say “I'm fine”. The first time he heard a banger, he jumped and almost cried. Now he brought earplugs – or even sound-reducing headphones – and he tried to keep an eye out for them, as they didn't upset him as much if he could predict the noise. He had learned to adjust to the specific atmosphere of protests until it became almost a second thought – protest? yeh sure, he would think while already planning hours to rest before and after. Though he still couldn't do them all, not when they were too huge, not when he was lacking sleep, not when he was already close to sensory overloading, but he could do enough.

Really, protests weren't the safest place for an autistic person. But Keith couldn't get himself to complain when the dark night sky was filled with slogans against the cisheteropatriarchy, and red smoke was joining the glowing moon to illuminate the night. He could still hear a few bangers once in a while, but the whole scene was just so _pretty_ , and it felt so _right._

“Someone's wearing a nice perfume.” Lance commented next to him.

Keith sniffed and, indeed, the air was spicy around them. He didn't really think when he replied: “It's the smell of revolution.”

Lance burst into laughter, and the sound to Keith’s ears was like sprinkles on top of an ice scream.

Keith would forever be glad that Shiro pushed him into this, because now, he couldn't picture his life without those moments. It acted like a battery to which he could recharge himself, even when he had to nap in the middle of the afternoon to be able to come. There was a kind of energy he could only find there, and sometimes he could even forget this wasn't thought for people like him. It still hit him, though, when the megaphone tried a new slogan and he had to listen five times before he could catch all the syllables and the meaning of the words. But the colored smokes felt like putting his fingers into smooth slime. He couldn't help but stare, a large smile growing on his face as his hands joined in a tiny clapping. Keith didn't even know why they used those – he never thought to ask – but everytime he saw them, in pictures or in the streets, he felt glitters in his stomach.

Protests weren't supposed to feel good. They joined in the street because they had to, because they needed to. They needed to show they were there and were being killed. They needed people to see the injustice and take action with them. It was a simple reaction to society rejecting them, spitting on their faces; it wasn't a party. They had a purpose, and it wasn't to have fun. They needed it, and they needed more of it. But at the same time, hopefully, in the perfect world Keith wasn't even able to fully conceptualize, they wouldn't have to protest anymore. They were there because they had no other choice, it was taking the street or dying in silence – and they were sick of dying in silence.

Protests weren't supposed to feel good. And maybe it wasn't what was good, exactly. Maybe it just made him feel alive and useful. And those moments of hope, where he could even join Lance and loudly sing _A la volonté du peuple_ , were so precious and so rare. If Keith was honest, the adrenaline wasn't enough to completely quiet down the part of him who believed he had picked an endless and pointless quest. You had to pick your battles, they said, and Keith choose them all. You had to pick your battles, they said, but why choose at all if they were all doomed to fail? _They weren't_ , Keith had to remember himself. Then he would remember the little victories; like the look on people faces as they got their new student card with their proper names, and how those smiles made the long years of fighting worth it. You had to pick your battles, they said, but Keith was planning to win them all.

 

The crowd stopped around a building, in the middle of an old street, and Keith noticed Allura with her hand already out and tagging the “V” of their organisation's name on a wall. He started walking to her to join but Lance tugged at his hand and led him towards a thin alley instead.

“What are we doing here?”

“I don't know. Taking pavements?” Lance suggested, but his smirk was proof enough that he was just looking for excuses.

“We said it would be a chill protest.” Keith still felt the need the clarify. Lance laughed at that. He pulled him closer to twist him against a wall.

“I know.” he whispered, coming closer until Keith could feel his warmth radiating on his skin, and then he was kissing him.

Protests weren't supposed to feel good. But Lance and him were kissing underneath the sound of their friends screaming at the top of their lungs, tapping on trash cans and clapping in rhythms. Purple smoke filled the air, and Keith giggled when he heard another banger. They didn't stop kissing. Keith felt dizzy, high on adrenaline, high on love, high on _life_.

They weren't there to have fun, they were there to commemorate their siblings who had been unfairly killed. They were there to be seen and remind the world that this _cistem_ was messed up. But as screams kept raising in the night, Keith thought that was also a way to do it. They had to keep fighting, they had to keep living, if only for those who had been deprived of it. They had to keep going, they had to move forward – towards a day were they could exist in public without needing the sounds of a protest nearby to feel at ease.

**Author's Note:**

> the context has been heavily inspired by the march I went to for the Trans Day of Remembrance (the rest not so much, no one kissed me :'( ) so I guess that's also my contribution to it  
> I hope you enjoy! don't hesitate to leave a comment and/or a kudo!!


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